All in the Wind
by gin and ironic
Summary: AU in which Jack is a cartographer and Will is pirate. Barbossa is after the treasure at Isla de Muerta, Will's motives are unclear, and Jack is just hoping to live to see another day. WIP, eventual slash.


Title: All in the Wind  
Author: Gin  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used herein and make no profit from said usage.  
Summary: AU in which Jack is a cartographer and Will is pirate; Barbossa is after the treasure at Isla de Muerta, Will's motives are unclear, and Jack is just hoping to live to see another day. WIP, eventual slash.  
Notes: Thanks to my friends, who have kept their sanity through my newest obsession, and to Nep & Krypt, my best mates.

_Prologue_

The wooden sign was cracking and old, but painted impeccably with the words 'Passer & Co. Cartography' in sharp relief. The building itself was as old as the sign but well-kept, the entry swept and the beggars a few doors down.

"I'm sorry but we're closed for the day. Perhaps if you came back tomorrow." The man did not look up from his work. In front of him was a sizable sheet of parchment, and in one hand he held a pencil. His work table faced the only window in the shop, lit by the dying rays of the day and a few cheap tallow candles.

"I'm afraid ye can't be helping me tomorrow."

He stiffened and sat up very straight, carefully placing his pencil atop his paper. Deftly he adjusted the lace at his sleeves, unfurling it until nearly the tips of his fingers were covered. Only then did he turn. His face was memorable to those who have seen it; a neat beard and mustache and a faded scar bisecting his right eyebrow were the distinguishing features. A queue tied his hair at the base of his neck with a fat strip of leather.

Barbossa smiled. "Hello, Jack."

Jack Sparrow, master cartographer, looked at the pirate standing in his shop with a measure of detached calm he did not feel. "I heard you died."

"You'll not be rid of me _that_ easily, Jack."

"Pity."

"That's no way to treat a client, Jack." He pulled a chair over and seated himself close to Jack, plunking his sword and pistol upon the table like an offering. Or a threat.

"Stop saying my name, and what on earth are you on about?"

"I'm talking about the map I want you to make me, the one to Isla de Muerta." His fingers stroked the hilt of his pistol, gentle like a lover. Jack didn't think it was possible, but Barbossa seemed to look worse than he did the last time they'd met. Life of a pirate. Most of the pirates Jack knew did not live to be Barbossa's age anyway.

"To where?" His quick reply did not cover the unwitting flinch he gave at the name.

"Don't play coy. I want the bearings of the Isla, and as I recall, your mapmaking skills are quite handy."

"Oh, they're quite handy. Nigh ingenious, but I've never heard of any Isle of the Dead -- at least not outside of children's stories. Hard to chart a course to somewhere that doesn't exist."

"Aye, it doesn't exist. It doesn't exist only to those who don't know where it is. And I'm sorry to say that map you made Boostrap went down with him."

"Boostrap's dead?" Jack's tone and expression were flat and unreadable, but Barbossa was keen enough to seek out the pain in his eyes. Captain Bill Turner was a good friend and unexpected business partner.

"Captain was overdue for a meetin' with Davy Jones. That cannon we strapped to his bootstraps just sent him on his way." He smiled again, dark eyes twinkling eerily in the dim of the room.

"You mutinied."

"Good old Bill, drinking enough to tell us loyal crew of your little plan, but not enough to give up the bearings. Which leaves you," he cocked his head to indicate Jack, "the only man living who knows where it is."

"And you think I'd be fool enough to tell you, a man wicked enough to murder his captain over a treasure that might not even exist."

"Oh, it exists, lad. The whys and hows aren't your concern; all you need to be doing is making me that map."

"What's in it for me?"

Barbossa stood holstered his gun, taking care with the strapping down of his sword. "Why, living to see another day, o'course."

"Of course," Jack muttered.

Barbossa strode to the door and admired the plaque next to it, a smaller version of the sign hanging out front. "_Passer_, hmm? And you thought you could hide from us pirates with a name so obvious-like."

"Wasn't trying to hide."

"Good day, Jack Sparrow." Ever the gentleman, Barbossa closed the door behind him.

---

Notes for this chapter: Passer is the scientific name for 'Sparrow.'


End file.
